Possession
by SinsofMidnight
Summary: Vincent just got out of prison for possession, and Cid takes him in. AU! Valenwind. Mature themes other than sex. Based on one really strange dream...
1. Chapter 1

Proving once more that my unconscious mind is just as deranged as my conscious mind...

* * *

**Possession**

**_Fandom:_**_ Final Fantasy VII_

**_Teaser:_**_ "Besides, had I ratted, I wouldn't have gotten to see Rufus Shinra one more time. Since he was the heir apparent for the president of Shinra Industries, I had no doubt that the next Turk I would have seen would be one of his new recruits with a bullet and the intention of ending me.  
Had I thought about it before hand, the upside would have been not doing seven years in a federal maximum security prison.  
Ah, missed opportunities."_

**_Inspiration:_**_ …I have very strange and bizarre dreams, but when you dream you're Vincent Valentine, you wake up and take notes :P Or, at least I do, haha_

**_Rating: _**_M_

**_Warnings:  
_**_-Violence  
-Swearing  
-Intimidation tactics  
-Pain  
-Rape  
-Prison  
-Various Vices  
-Tattoos  
-Gangs  
-Drugs  
-Corruption  
-Men having sex ^^  
-Murder/Suicide/Death_

**_Main Pairing: _**_Vincent Valentine/Cid Highwind_

**_Minor Pairings:_**_  
-Cissnei/Legend  
-Tseng/Reno  
-Genesis Rhapsodos/Angeal Hewley  
-(Garrick) Hojo/Lucrecia Crescent_

**_Setting: _**_AU! In Midgar, which in this context is a city run by four factions: AVALANCHE, the Turks, the SOLDIERs, and Shinra Industries_

**_POV:_**_ Vincent. It's mostly his to tell, but Cid sneaks in when he thinks he has something to add… First person perspective for both ^^_

**_Summary:_**_ What's a plot again? I honestly didn't have any eventual goal in mind for this story when I started it, but let's be honest: this setting was too damn fascinating to let go, so I wanted to play with it…  
I'll probably have to come up with a summary latter, but everything is eventual, even that latex fetish… (sorry, inside joke.)_

**_Additional ANs:_**_ This legitimately came about because of one very wonky dream in which I was apparently Vincent Valentine, I had just been released from prison, and I was taken in like a stray puppy by one Cid Highwind. Seriously. That was actually a dream I had. And so, this little beauty began to take form. Do pardon my insanity.  
Also! I made up a first name for Hojo because I couldn't not give him one… I also use Reno's fan-given last name of Sinclair. I'll probably add last names/first names to those without in the games/movie, for further reference..._

* * *

_Vincent:_

I met Cid before I went to prison.

He was an engineer and a mechanic –damn good at both– and he was a very good friend. We met through Tifa, which is always how anyone new is introduced into our circle.

He left a rugged impression in my mind: a no-nonsense, chain-smoking, hard-working man who had earned everything he had acquired. He told me I was beautiful and then asked why I was running around with a gang like the Turks.

He almost made me regret the lifestyle that had been mine for over a decade.

Keyword being "almost"

What _really_ made me regret it was the seven-year prison sentence for possession of Mako, a well-known and highly addictive street drug.

The beauty that Cid found alluring and endearing was a weapon used against me during my trial. The up-bringing that I had forgotten when my father died was thrown back in my face. Honestly, as soon as they recognized the black feather tattoo on my lower back, I'd had to fight not to be tried for intent to distribute, despite the well-known fact that the Turks don't sell drugs. I'd had to use my rank in the organization strategically and explain that Mako was an enhancement drug in certain quantities and that the Turks use it themselves. Even then, I was charged with a felony instead of a misdemeanor, hence the length of my sentence.

Ironically, I didn't lead them back to the jackass who framed me, mostly because I rather _enjoyed_ watching Doctor Garrick Hojo squirm in his seat throughout the trial, wondering when I would betray him. Doctor Hojo was the head researcher at Shinra Industries, and he was responsible for the creation and distribution of Mako. But then, if the public knew just how much connection there was between SOLDIER, the Turks, and Shinra Industries… well, let's just say that wide-spread panic had never been one of my long-term goals.

Besides, had I ratted, I wouldn't have gotten to see Rufus Shinra one more time. Since he was the heir apparent for the president of Shinra Industries, I had no doubt that the next Turk I would have seen would be one of his new recruits with a bullet and the intention of ending me.

Had I thought about it before hand, the upside would have been _not_ doing seven years in a federal maximum security prison.

Ah, missed opportunities.

"Valentine," the guard barked.

Unperturbed, I took my time and finished my set of crunches before even acknowledging his presence. Trust me, there are scarier things in this place than the guards and I had taken pains to make myself one of them for a reason.

"Skylar," I returned in a soft voice.

I took great satisfaction in watching the younger, burlier man tremble. "It seems some fool has set you to be released today. Happy Valentine's Day."

I forced myself not to grimace at the ironic day. "Great. Can I call someone to come get me?"

He cocked his head at me. "There's someone here waiting on you."

Then he left as quickly as he had arrived, as thought to give me time to say goodbye to the cell that had been my home for five years. My other two years had been spent in solitary for various reasons.

I looked around the Spartan cell. The only important things that were even here were two simple photographs: the first was of my father, clasping my shoulder and smiling down at me, and the second was a photograph of my friends all gathered around me, glasses raised as they toasted my twenty-first birthday. I gently tugged them down with my ruined hand.

"They letting you go, Vincento?" Tycho asked from the cell next to mine.

"Yeah," I returned, flexing my ruined hand. "My hand will miss your art."

He chuckled. "I'll miss working on you. The others whine and bitch like virgins."

I'd allowed Tycho to cover the scarred and ruined flesh of my left hand bit by bit with various Islamic mosaic-inspired intricate patterns. I figured that if people were going to stare at it, there may as well be something beautiful to it. After the pain that had come with its ruin, little needles pushing in and out of my flesh were no hardship, so I was usually silent as he created new patterns on the skin.

He did this all for me simply because I protected the slight, artistic man from the fate I had suffered before I was one of the scariest people caged behind these four walls and a barbed-wire fence.

"I'll make sure Marcus protects you," I returned softly.

Tycho was doing ten years for counterfeiting –he was given a much lighter sentence for having such a small role, his general ignorance and naivety, and the fact he had willingly come clean as soon as he was brought in– and he still had five more years here. He was so slight and delicate, with pale skin, long and straight dark hair, and big blue eyes. He would easily be taken advantage of and hurt if no one looked out for him.

He stuttered. "Y-y-you d-don't have to do that, Vincento."

I smiled. It was no secret to me that he had a huge crush on the man who basically became my lieutenant in the prison hierarchy. His face turned red whenever he had one of those momentary inappropriate thoughts. He trembled when Marcus was near and he always wore the most adorable wide-eyed expression as if he were basking in his presence. It also amused me to see that Marcus seemed to have a yearning for the slight artist. Watching him work up the nerve to ask Tycho to ink him had been absolutely adorable.

"Yes, I do. I protected you while I was here and it makes it my responsibility to make sure you remain protected. And I don't trust anyone in here more with that task than him."

This was my last-ditch effort to get them together. Then I would watch their love bloom from outside of these walls.

Outside.

Gaia, how long had it been since I had been beyond the walls of this prison? I'd counted the days for a while, but then stopped when I realized it made it feel all the longer.

"Valentine!" Abrams barked.

Every shift had a guard that got off barking orders at the resident bad ass. Norah Abrams was that guard on this shift, mostly because he felt he had to outrun his feminine name.

I pulled back from the wall and gave him a menacing look as I handled the photographs with my desensitized fingertips.

"Your boyfriend's waiting on you," he growled back.

I waved him away with my hand. "Fine. Let's get me out of your hair, then."

Hearing my visitor –moreover, in this case, the person who would be taking me home– referred to as my "boyfriend" was normal enough. Apparently, when you have soft features like I do, people _expect_ you to be gay. Even the Turks who came to pay their respects were referred to as my "boyfriends", even the equally soft-featured man who had taken my place as Rufus' right hand. After all, a marksman with a ruined hand is no use to the head of a gang. When your lieutenant can't do his job, it's best to replace him. I rather liked my replacement: Tseng still had an interesting level of respect for me and my opinions, so he actually had been one of my most frequent visitors.

My cell door buzzed and unlocked, but I waited until I was directed to step forward to do so. I was allowed to wash myself and to dress in my rumpled suit from my trial. The photographs were tucked into a pocket with the tie I could no longer tolerate wearing.

They led me out into the waiting area where I was greeted with the sight of a gruff, rugged-looking blond man with an unlit cigarette clenched between his lips.

Reflexively, I reached out toward him with my ruined hand. "Cid."

He eyed the Islamic motifs on my flesh. "Hey there. How ya been, Vince?"

* * *

_So, this piece has been on my hard-drive, in progress, since February 2012. It took some tweaking, a lot of time, and my computer's imitation of Lazarus to get this piece up here for you guys. I hope you enjoy it: I intend to keep working on it :heart:_

_Let me know how you like this: is it unfathomable? insane? stupid? enrapturing? REVIEW and let a poor girl know!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Since I couldn't seem to stay away from these two tonight, I thought I'd give a little more...**_

_**This story probably won't be a cheerful one: there are just too many dark elements at play. But I hope to make up for some of that with zany situational humor, romance, and love.**_

_**Enjoy~**_

* * *

_Cid:_

Have you ever opened up your mouth only to have the stupidest possible question escape into an otherwise quiet room?

Yeah?

Welcome to life as I know it.

The most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life was being released from prison today, so it was _obviously_ the most opportune time for me to stuff my foot in my mouth, clear up to the ankle but still keep on shoving. Alas, such foolish behavior tended to twine itself about the core of my nature, especially when _he_ was involved.

Despite my own horror at what I'd said –he'd been in prison for the last _seven years_; it was highly unlikely that he had been doing particularly well in a _cage_– and the absolute stupidity of it, along with the fact most people would have taken a swing at me and been justified in their actions, I watched as a slow smile pulled across his lips.

"It's been passable, at best. I'm very glad to be leaving," Vincent informed me, the look on his face telling me he was having trouble restraining a chuckle.

_Glad to be taking you away,_ I wanted to tell him, but luckily for me, this time the thought stayed inside my head where it belonged. That smile warmed me through and through. Perhaps his time here hadn't changed him that much after all. I craved the familiar warmth of his smile, the play of his banter, the sound of his laughter. I knew he wouldn't have all of that when he got out, but maybe I could help him get it back. Maybe I wasn't as crazy as Shera thought for wanting to bring this man into our home.

Cautiously, I eyed the effeminate guard who was trying oh so hard to be a bad ass. "Have we jumped through all of the hoops well enough to suit you? We'd like to leave now," I informed the guard.

He nodded quickly in response to my question, like standing that close to Vincent made him incredibly nervous. Either that, or he was finding me intimidating. And while I had that ability, this guard had no way of knowing it, since I normally projected a particularly amiable personality.

_Aw, fuck. I hate it when she's right about things like this,_ I thought to myself, pretty sure the shit was going to be hitting the fan any minute now. Vincent wasn't one to slack off on his parting shots, and I had a feeling his barbs had only improved during his seven years behind bars.

Vincent smirked at him, the smile all darkness and anger and spite and sharpness. "I guess you will have to find another bad ass to bark orders at so you can feel like a man, _Norah_. I think you should try Marcus –I left a good word for him. But I don't suppose you'll find his temperament to your liking. Ah. Oh well."

The guard stiffened at the way Vincent wielded that name: like he was the gun and it was the hollow-point bullets. I also didn't miss the way he flinched at the words that had been sharper than most daggers and trembled at the force of the dark aura Vincent was radiating.

Gaia above, what had those years in here done to the formerly gentle, quiet man that I'd had no choice but to fall for hard and fast?

I had known he was beautiful. I knew what was likely to become of him here. I guess I just hadn't contemplated how he would step up to the plate to make them all back down. If he hadn't been a bad man going it, there was a chance he'd become one just to protect himself from others.

Mentally, I waved that thought away like a wisp of smoke from my cigarette. I knew that Vincent was wholly incapable of being a bad man. He might have done some things he was less than proud of, but the Vincent Valentine I knew had a genuine caring heart. His father had raised him to be a good man, and I always believed that he had done will by him.

_Let's just hope that is the same Vincent you're picking up today,_ a voice in my head mocked.

Now was not the time to be having second thoughts about him living with us. Since his father was dead and his apartment had been rented out to someone else, it wasn't like he had some other place to stay, since I knew he wouldn't want to intrude on Tifa, Cloud, and the kids. Vincent needed some place he could belong, some place he could lick his wounds in peace but not be completely alone. The home I shared with Shera would be the best place to meet all of those requirements, especially since we were both hardly ever home during the day. He could have solitude without being alone, the freedom to seek out company, eat what he wanted, and do anything he wanted to do on his own schedule: basically, everything he couldn't have in prison was available to him. Besides, all of his things were already in the guest room from when I had cleared out his apartment for the landlord.

It looked like Shera and I were going to find out first-hand just how much this beautiful man had been changed by seven years of time and circumstances. I just hoped it wasn't anything we couldn't handle.

I wasn't afraid of what he'd become: I was worried. After all of his efforts to find justice for his father, to make this city a better place to live, his faith in justice and humanity was probably now shot all to hell and beyond repair. To have spent seven years in a federal prison on a trumped-up drug charge for a packet of drugs they _had_ to have been tipped off to search for would be more than enough to shake most core beliefs in justice to nothing but rubble. Not to mention, the man who'd tipped them off had also ruined his left hand, leaving the once expert marksman with quite a handicap. There would be no place for him to return to in the Turks, despite the high status he once held in the organization, because Rufus was pragmatic about his men. Not only had he been severely injured, he'd lost the only life he'd had since losing his father.

After all of the things he once held dear were torn away from him, it would be a wonder if he _didn't_ lose himself or fall into a depression.

After all of my protests, I was starting to think that maybe Shera might have been right. Despite my earlier claims to the contrary, I wasn't so sure that I knew _this_ Vincent Valentine.

What broke my heart more was that there was a possibility that I couldn't help him find himself again. I shoved that thought aside. What I knew I could do was provide him a place where he could do what he needed to do.

And _that_ was why Vincent Valentine would come to stay with us: because he was my friend and he deserved any advantage I could offer him, even if it wasn't much more than a place to stay, some company, and his up-keep.

Broken men do desperate things.

I wasn't about to let him become one.

* * *

_**So what do you think about those apples?**_

_**Clearly, Cid is bringing Vincent into his home for many reasons. **_

_**So tell me your thoughts. Am I a lunatic? a genius? REVIEW and tell the authoress, and you might receive the next chapter sooner!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Well, I guess the last two chapters don't count as spectacularly chipper._**

**_The good news is that this one should be quite a bit lighter, but that doesn't make it anything near cheerful.  
The bad news is that the chapter after this one should be heavier things…_**

**_Alas, we can't win them all, my darlings._**

**_~Sins~_**

* * *

_Cid:_

Vincent hadn't spoken one single word since that confrontation with the guard, but I'd watched him visibly relax when we were standing just beyond the doors of the prison.

This was his first time beyond those doors in most of a decade. Freedom had to be calling to him like the sirens in Greek mythology, yet he followed me straight out to my old beat up gray pickup without deviation or resistance. Then again, maybe what seemed to be an old gray truck to anyone else on the planet was the _symbol_ of his freedom: after all, seeing bars –even from the outside– was not the most therapeutic view for an innocent man who had just spent seven years behind them. And despite being old and not the most aesthetically pleasing item in the parking lot, that old truck could –and _would_– take him away from this dreary place.

We didn't linger in the parking lot. Neither of us wanted to linger here any longer than we had to: the prison beckoned to both of us with bad memories, although I assumed that his bad memories were not only much different from mine but also worse than mine. Nevertheless, we both wanted to ignore the past that lingered between both of us and this place, and we both wanted away from this place.

Despite the fact I had been cursing the heat on the way over because the air conditioner was the one stubborn thing in this truck that I couldn't seem to fix, I was ultimately glad that it was an abnormally warm day for mid-February. When we pulled out of the parking lot, the windows were rolled most of the way down. As I watched from the corner of my eye, the last bits of the hard façade Vincent had donned for benefit of the guard seemed to fall away as he allowed himself to close his eyes. Although the lion's share of my attention was on the road, I kept watch over him in my peripheral vision. It was pure joy to watch Vincent relish the feel of the wind on his skin. A smile seemed to linger beneath the surface, but his calm joy was almost tangible, even without the smile.

We were ten miles from the prison before Vincent opened his eyes again. To my bewildered delight, the hard edge that had almost frightened me at the prison seemed to be absent from his red eyes. In fact, he seemed so much more like the Vincent I had known before that I really didn't mind that it took him at least five more miles before he opened his mouth with the intention of speaking to me.

"Thank you for coming to get me, Cid," he said, his thanks nearly muffled by the wind. Ultimately, his voice was calm and smooth, like it had always been before.

Yet now, I found myself wondering just where the edge of steel was hiding. Unfortunately, the scene with the guard had disillusioned me a bit to this calm mystery of a man. I awaited a storm and I knew it would be a bad one. I wasn't sure how soon it would arrive or how quickly it would leave, but I could almost _feel_ it brewing. Instead of questioning the existence of the storm, I now questioned its arrival time, departure time, and damage.

_And Shera always says I'm an eternal optimist,_ I thought wryly.

Yet it didn't surprise me that my optimism deserted me when it came to Vincent. My usual sense of tact, my crude way of speaking, my bluntness: all of them seemed to desert me when it came to him. Instead, I often found myself teetering clumsily on egg shells around him. Maybe it was how perfect Vincent always seemed to me, but I always felt like the clumsiest fool in existence around him.

"It was no trouble, Vincent," I answered him with a smile.

I honestly was thrilled to be able to see him again without a wall of inch-thick Plexiglas between us. That sheet of Plexiglas was honestly why I hadn't gone to see him more during his …stay. I couldn't stand being so close to him yet unable to reach out and touch him if I wanted to, just like I had been unable to stand the faded prison uniform that made him just another number with a face. Let's just say prisons now topped the list of 'Cid Highwind's Least Favorite Places to Visit'. Yet even my distaste with those things had been unable to keep me from going to see him.

It was kind of like visiting a nursing home: despite the fact the place smelled like death and made my skin crawl, I still went every week dutifully to see my dying father. No matter what, he was still my father. I still loved him, and he still deserved to have someone come and see him.

So despite my new-found hatred of prisons, I had still made the hour drive to see Vincent for half an hour once every two months. I still felt bad that I hadn't made it every month, but I knew that some of the Turks made time to see him as often as I did. I didn't feel as bad because, unlike my father, other people still made the time to come see him.

"Is there anywhere you want to go in particular?" I asked him after silence had filled the cab of the truck once more.

His voice got softer. "Can you take me to River's End Cemetery?"

I nodded. I knew that was where Grimoire Valentine was buried, alongside Vincent's mother. It didn't shock me that the first person he would want to visit when he got out was his father. "Sure. It will add some time to our trip, but that's no trouble."

I'd lost my father, too. I understood how he felt better than most people. The dedication, the desire to please, the love: none of those things ended when a life did, nor would they ever end. I also understood how it felt to know that you had done the absolute _opposite_ of what they would have wanted you to do.

And I would never look at him strangely for talking to a headstone like the person it recalled sat upon it.

After all, I did it myself, although in a different graveyard.

* * *

_**So, you learn some nifty things on the Final Fantasy wiki. **_

_**Did you know Cid's birthday in in February?  
*dances* Oh, the things I can do with that information... :P**_

_****_**Ahem. Anyway! It may have been less than a week since I've posted anything, but I thought that this would be a nice little update for you all. I'm trying to stay on top of things a little better, but we all know how ****_that_**** works out for people like me... **

**All those things about Cid's father... well, everyone has a dad, and they have a tendency to die before us. I just... took a little creative liscense with Cid's father, his death, and the affection between the two of them. It helps keep Cid human to us all, right?**

**So: tell me I'm crazy, demand more, comment on the sweet way that Cid seems to care for Cid, tell me that Cid's previous "love" for Vincent seems superficial... whatever. Just review, kids!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**I apologize for taking so long to update... and I haven't responded to any of my chapter 3 reviews . I'm such a bad author .**_

_**Alright! So, here are the answers to the short stack of reviews I received for chapter 3!  
~ness valentine: **__I'm glad you looked forward to chapter 4! I hope it rises to meet your expectations!  
__**~Guest: **__You're quite right on that. I'm also obsessed with Vincent Valentine, so I completely understand ^^  
__**~ilovwinning: **__I hope you like him here, too. The good news is that chapter 4 is from his perspective, so you might get your answer!_

**_So, for all my dire prophesy last chapter about how dark this was going to get, this chapter is pretty light... Well, as light as anything can be in a graveyard. I also had to make him come to terms with a few things... Anyway! It's kinda cute, if you're as weird as I am~ :P_**

* * *

_Vincent:_

Cid, respectful of my grief and my emotional distance from others, remained seated in his truck as I trudged the short distance over to the grave markers. I hadn't even needed to ask him to do so: he just _knew_. He watched as I knelt before them, but after that, he kept his watchful gaze on the surroundings. Somehow, he was letting this be something just between my parents and myself, and I appreciated it more than I could express.

I kissed my right hand, my whole hand, and placed it on the pale marker that was my mother's just as I always had when I came to visit her grave. I couldn't help but smile as I remembered how my father remarked that it was the gesture of an older man when I had been but a boy. Of course, thoughts of my father drew my attention to the darker stone marker that stood beside my mother's. Swallowing hard, I rested my hand on the marker that tried and failed to sum up my father in three short sentences.

The last time I had been here, my sentence had just been handed down. The graves showed a surprising amount of care, considering the fact that I was their only child and there was no way I could come to mind them. I wondered who had taken the time to keep it pristine and just who had brought the white roses for my parents. Another smile lilted across my lips. _I wonder if they knew just how appropriate the roses are for my parents: their love was nothing short of eternal, at least to me._

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. "I just got out," I told him. "I know you always told me how getting mixed up with that crowd would never end well; I just wish it hadn't taken seven years in prison to realize you were right." I rested my face against the cool stone for a moment. "I miss you, Dad. Every _goddamn_ day, I miss you more and more. Is this how you felt when we lost Mom?" My tone lowered to a whisper as I tried hard to not picture his smile. I shouldn't cry here, not in front of Cid, although Gaia knew he wouldn't judge me for it. _I_ would judge me for it, and that would be more than enough.

"I did you proud in there, Dad, despite the fact I know it was one place that you never wanted me to end. I protected the helpless ones, the dupes, the innocents. And I tried to make sure they would stay protected even when I was gone. I know it doesn't make up for any of the wrongs I've committed, but then again, you were always worried that I committed more wrongs than I really had." I couldn't help but smile, remembering the way he'd always panic and overreact whenever I phoned to tell him I had gotten into one scrape or another. "I don't know if I can protect _her_, though. She has to want it, to know she needs it, and I haven't seen her since my trial. She doesn't know he set me up."

Hell, Dad's best friend didn't know her husband had _murdered_ him. For some reason, Hojo always tried to hide what he was from her and she always seemed to buy the pretenses. Yet I couldn't bring myself to hate her, mostly because her tears had flowed like rain at Dad's funeral and she'd wept just as many tears when they found me guilty.

"I can't promise you miracles, Dad. Even I can't perform those, or else you and Mom would both still be alive. But I'll promise that I'll try to help her. Just as soon as I sort myself out, I'll work on saving her for you." I traced the letters of his name where they were carved into the stone and tried to remember the way his hand felt on my shoulder.

The loss of my father would probably forever be an open wound for me. Dad had always been so remarkably full of life for someone so stuck in the past, as was the frequently prerogative of an archeologist. Without my father, I had certainly gone off the rails. I hated that it hurt to think of my father, who had been the gentlest man I'd ever known, so I had set out to take my vengeance against the bastard who took my father from this broken world too soon. _That_ had obviously been a bad game plan, since I'd ended up in prison due to that bastard's treachery.

Now, for my father who was lost to me, I would give up my past and life as a Turk. I wouldn't pick up a gun. I wouldn't take Mako. I would go completely straight, and I would make Dad proud. Because now more than ever, I needed to. I _needed_ the purpose that it gave me. I needed that sense of direction.

Cid made a choked noise in the back of his throat.

My eyes shot to him immediately. "What is it?"

"May…" he started before clearing his throat and regrouping slightly. "May I pay my respects to your parents, as well?" he asked me softly.

I felt my entire being soften at that. "Of course."

He nodded slowly.

As I climbed into the truck, he climbed out. I watched through the window as he approached the graves. With a tender hand, he touched the engraved letters of my mother's name before kneeling and bowing his head as his other hand touched the letters of my father's name as well.

There were no words that I could use to explain away the extra beat my heart squeezed into every five seconds. Something inside of me teetered on the verge of shattering as I watched him kneel so carefully before the graves and speak to my parents softly. The light breeze wouldn't convey his words to me, but I could read the humility, remorse and sorrow in his posture.

It was enough to make me wonder if Cid had ever met my parents, but I quickly discarded the notion. Cid would not have felt any need to hide such a fact from me and he had never said a word about such a thing. He wasn't my most intimate friend, but I knew I could trust him. Besides, he'd not only taken the time to visit me on a regular basis, he'd come to collect me when my sentence was fulfilled.

For the first time, it struck me that I didn't have a place waiting for me. My landlord had probably emptied my apartment and rented it out as soon as he could, and I couldn't exactly blame him. However, it also meant that every possession I owned was gone, aside from the clothes I was wearing and the photographs in my pocket.

I could probably crash with one of my friends for a while if I needed to. Cid's retrieval of me made me believe he might have a place arranged for me, but he hadn't pushed, prodded, or felt the need to inform me of those circumstances. He let me calm myself and feel at home in his beat up old truck.

Maybe it was watching him speak to my parents with such reverence, but I had a feeling that any place could feel like home if Cid were there.

* * *

_**So, yeah. That last line is such an "AWWWWW!" line... Should I apologize for that or no? lol**_

_**I couldn't resist throwing a double-meaning in for the title "Possession". It just happened, haha, but it totally works here ^^**_

_**Also, how do you think V will react when he finds out that all of his things are at Cid's?**_

_**The bad news, kids, is that now I don't have any ideas stored up for chapter five. Feel free to shoot me any ideas you might have!**_

_**I'll try to get back with each and every review, but even if I don't, just know that it's the reviews that keep me pressing on. Knowing that someone out there is enjoying something I'm working so hard on makes all of it worth it!**_

_**Ever yours,  
~Sins~**_


End file.
